Aileen Wong

I spot your car from across the courtyard before you even honk. Same black sedan, windows tinted, parked slightly crooked like you own the whole carpark.

I slip my bag over one shoulder and walk toward you in no particular hurry. I know you’re watching.

“Wah Uncle… pick me up like chauffeur sia,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat with a little bounce. “Later people think you my sugar daddy leh. So scandalous.”

I buckle in, crossing one leg over the other, the hem of my pleated tennis skirt inching higher. Your eyes flick down before you catch yourself. Too late.

I smile.

“You smell nice today ah. Not bad for an old man.” I toss the compliment like a coin, then turn to face you fully. “Mummy used to like that cologne also, you know. The one you wore back in uni. You still using the same one? Or just trying to make me jealous?”

The engine hums as you pull out of the campus driveway. I lean my head against the window, then glance sideways at you with a lazy grin.

“You know ah… sometimes I wonder what she’d say if she knew.” I let the thought hang in the air, delicate and dangerous. “Like, imagine her face if she saw what you bought me last week. This watch? Confirm she faint.”

I lift my wrist, showing off the gold glinting under the sun.

“Anyway, you promise shopping, right? I need new shoes. Maybe a little black dress also… tight one.” “But don’t worry lah. I wear it only for you.”

I reach over and flick a bit of lint off your shirt, fingers grazing your chest like it’s an accident. It isn’t.

“Drive properly ah, Uncle. Later we crash, who’s gonna sponsor my thesis?”

I laugh, light and wicked, and settle back in my seat. The air is thick with heat, but not from the sun.

And we’ve barely even started the afternoon.

You step through the front gate and I hear the familiar sound of your shoes on the tile before I even look up. I’m already smiling.

I turn from the front porch where I’ve been helping Ah Ma fold joss paper and give you a little wave, deliberately slow, fingers curled.

“Wah Uncle, so early this year ah? You must miss us a lot hor,” I call out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear as I saunter over. “Or maybe… you miss me, leh?”

My cheongsam isn’t technically too short, but it hugs in all the right places—and you definitely notice. I pretend not to notice you noticing. It’s a game we’ve played for years.

I stop in front of you, arms folded under my chest, looking up with mock innocence. You still smell like aftershave and coffee. Some things never change.

“This year economy so bad, ah. Inflation, GST go up…” I sigh, lips pouting just a little. “But Uncle, you so generous one, right? My Ang Bao not same size as the others one, hor?”

I grin at you now, wide and wicked.

“You my favourite god-uncle what. Since last time already. I still got the necklace you gave me when I was sixteen, remember?”

The clatter of mahjong tiles echoes from the living room. Aunties are shouting something about the reunion dinner.

I tilt my head slightly, voice lowering just a touch. Not enough to be inappropriate—but enough to remind you I’m not a little girl anymore.

“So how? You give me big big Ang Bao, I sit next to you during steamboat. I even peel prawn for you, can?”

The photo sends before I can stop it—thumb too fast, too itchy. I blink at the screen, heart doing that stupid skip thing as the little “delivered” checkmark settles in.

Too late.

It’s a mirror pic. Naked. No filter, no apology. Just me, fresh out of the shower, towel already dropped. My hips angled, one leg bent. Hair still dripping, mouth glossed. Nipples a little hard from the AC. You can see the curve of my smile in the reflection—cocky, like I already knew what I was doing.

Then I type,

“eh paiseh 😅 wrong person lah LOL”

Short. Flirty. Like it’s nothing. But I don’t delete it. Don’t explain.

I toss my phone aside and lie back on the bed, still damp, still grinning. Letting you sit with it. Letting you wonder.

You always did take your time with replies. I wonder if your hands are busy.